


Fae, Witches and One Seriously Fucked Up Family

by TinyAncientDragon, WowItsAlmostLikeICare



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV), Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Aelin is a QUEEN!, Allison Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Allison Redemption I guess?, BAMF Allison, BAMF Number Five | The Boy, BAMF people doing BAMF things, Bamf Fenrys, Character Arcs, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Loves His Siblings, Gen, In This House We Love And Appreciate Fenrys Moonbeam, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Let Number Five | The Boy Say Fuck, Luther Hargreeves Being an Asshole, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Ok??!!, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, We do not like Luther ok, Will add character tags and relationships as it goes on, court life, travelling to other worlds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyAncientDragon/pseuds/TinyAncientDragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WowItsAlmostLikeICare/pseuds/WowItsAlmostLikeICare
Summary: His mouth opened in a wordless cry, the sound swallowed by the rushing darkness surrounding him, as Allison’s hand fell away. But they didn’t stop -couldn’tstop - as they rushed through the seemingly endless void.They hurtled through time and space – they hurtled through otherworlds- and Five knew that whatever they were traveling towards, wherever his power was leading them, was going to get them into a lot of trouble. Fuck. He was going to need one stiff drink after this.*****The Hargreeves siblings are sucked into a different universe at the end of season one. Two years after winning the war that threatened her entire world all Aelin wants is a fucking break (set after the last TOG book)
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver & Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien, Aedion Ashryver/Lysandra, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Fenrys, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Allison Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Manon Blackbeak/Dorian Havilliard, Number Five | The Boy & Allison & Ben & Diego & Klaus & Luther & Vanya, Number Five | The Boy & Ben Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 26
Kudos: 71
Collections: The umbrella academy, Throne Of Glass





	1. The End of the World Happens Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> We tried and we probably didn't succeed.

Five held tightly onto Allison’s hand, their sweaty palms clutched together, anchoring himself to reality with her steady presence, and reached down to the power laying inside of him. 

He needed to find the strength - the willpower - to rip open the fabrics of the universe, and create a doorway in time that they could slip through. He needed to find the part of himself that had done so all those days - _years_ \- ago. 

He had to be careful however - he needed to do this with precision. The number of ways in which this could all to go horribly wrong were staggering. He had jumped across time before, yes, but taking people with him? That was something he had only thought about in theory. It was, in its essence, the same. Or rather had the same idea behind it. In actuality it was far more complicated, people with multiple degrees in the sciences would still struggle to comprehend it. It had taken him and Delores years in solitude with nothing else to do, to figure at least part of it out.

That was why he now clung so tightly to his sibling’s hands _(it definitely wasn’t because he had missed them so much, it wasn’t because his sleep was constantly plagued with nightmares, nightmares of losing them, of seeing their dead bodies, over and over again - wasn’t because he thought that, if he clung to them hard enough, they would never leave him)._

The _only_ reason he held on so tightly was to make sure his power wouldn’t jump ahead, taking only him and leaving them behind to die a fiery death, his own ingrained sense of self-preservation winning out. No, he needed to ensure that they would go with him. He _needed_ them to do the jump with him. He didn’t think his mind could handle otherwise.

He reached down into his well of power, pooling as much of it as possible, saturating each and every one of his cells with it. He went down further and further, emptying reserve after reserve, until his head was almost spinning with it.

His body felt alive with his power, he could see all the possible routes, see all the possible endings. He would forget them as soon as he let go of his ability, this he knew from experience, but it was reassuring now to see all this life. See all these possibilities. It was a heady feeling, to have all that power, all that knowledge at the very tips of his fingers.

He gathered it into his hands, taking one final look at his siblings who stood around him. 

Beautiful, selfish Allison, now silenced, her one strength taken away from her by the ugly scar slashed across her throat. _Tsc, tsc. Too bad she allowed herself to become useless_ , whispered a cold voice at the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like the Handler. 

Blustering Diego, the thick-headed grunt, whose own disregard for the law had cost him his friend, albeit indirectly. _Untrustworthy, reckless._

Arrogant Luther, who may have just destroyed the world. _Unreliable_ , the voice continued, bored, _honestly Five have you learnt nothing? Look how quickly he turned against his own sister, one whom he loves. What would he do to you, I wonder?_

Naïve Vanya, who had sought so hard to be loved, but when she thought she had finally found the love she so craved, it had ended up destroying her and those around her. _Normal. Even with her power, she’s so delightfully normal_ , a high pitched laugh followed. 

Troublesome Klaus, who may be the only one of this fucked-up family to have a real right to complain, but who never had. _The useless junkie?_ it crooned, before quieting down to nothing. 

(His mind flashed to sweet, kind Ben, who was hopefully free from this dysfunctional group of people, people who had the perverse audacity to call themselves family, before he quickly dismissed it) 

As Five prepared to make the jump across time, he felt an inexplicable pull to somewhere…other. Somewhere both familiar and strange. 

He tried to ignore it - he couldn’t let unknown variables interfere in the jump across reality, across the very fabric of the universe – he had to keep his siblings _safe._ But that something kept pulling, until he couldn’t ignore it, until he couldn’t even _stop_ it.

Five started to panic. _ShitNoNoShit_. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It should have been impossible, he’d done the calculations right. Fuck. 

His power wasn’t listening to his intentions, not allowing him to traverse across time to where they could be safe – it was taking them somewhere unknown – somewhere where he couldn’t control what would happen to them, where he couldn’t even protect his family. 

That damn feeling was tugging at him, becoming more and more insistent as the seconds passed by, and Five couldn’t let this back and forth between the pull and his power go on any longer. 

His ability wasn’t working as it should, wasn’t allowing him to take control – the tug pulling him in the opposite direction – in an unknown direction – to exactly the place he was trying to avoid. As a result, his power did nothing - coming to a stalemate of sorts - confused between the warring alien pull and Five’s own will. 

He wanted to scream in frustration. The shockwave was nearing, the world was ending, and they needed to leave _right fucking now_ , before they were killed by the oncoming wave of fire. He didn’t have the time for unknown sensations, for strange tugs in even stranger directions. 

If this wasn’t the apocalypse - the end - it would have fascinated him, this strand of power trying to take him to a place that felt so different but so damn familiar at the same time. It would have resulted in him spending _days_ with nothing but a notebook and pen, picking it part, slowly, methodically, trying to work out what it was, where it had come from, and, most importantly, _how_ exactly it was doing what it was doing. 

But this was the end of the world, and so, he wanted to do nothing more than to kick in its fucking teeth. He began to scream into the void, scream about the unfairness of it all. How, after _everything_ he had done, the world was still being destroyed, his stupid, idiotic family the main cause, how his one contingency plan to get everyone out, was now being tampered with. 

He had to get them all out and _safe_. He could not, would not, let his siblings be killed. No matter how stupid they were acting. Not again. And to do that, there was only one option, only one viable option. 

He gritted his teeth and gave in, gave in to that insistent tugging, if only to get them out of there. He would, in the end, do absolutely everything to help them, even if it meant being taken across an impossible route, following an impossible sensation. The Handler, had always told him that this sentiment would be his undoing. And look at that! She was abso-fucking-loutly right. But he would do it. As long as they were safe. 

The tug immediately became an inescapable drag, pulling them all along. His skin felt as if it was being pricked all over by needles, him being the anchor point for the rope that was now forcing them to move, and he clung tighter to his siblings, ensuring that they wouldn’t be separated. But unfortunately for him, in the end, that wouldn’t be enough.

Darkness whipped around them, pulling at their clothes, tugging at their hair. Blue sparks danced across their skin, the shade not unsimilar to that of the colour Five’s eyes had become. He began to seize up; uncontrollable shudders wracking his frame as every inch of his body overflowed with colossal power. Too much power. His hands became slick with sweat, sliding against his sister’s hand. He tightened it, hoping to keep his grip. This proved to be his undoing. 

Reginald had been rich; he had vaults filled with countless goods, vast estates all around the world, large businesses - all of them for himself. He wore hand-tailored suits of the finest wool - of cashmere and silk. His mansions were filled with all sorts of antiquities and rare items, and the one time Five had ‘accidentally’ entered Reginald’s bedroom, he had seen a large four-poster bed with downy pillows and satin sheets. 

No such luxuries had been spared for his children. Five could still remember the cheap, white bars of soap they had used - bars that had smelt of nothing but anti-septic and the plastic they had come wrapped in. He remembered how, when they showered in those dull, plain stalls, he would hear the various cries of dismay from his siblings, as time and time again, the wet soap would slip from their fingers, their tight grips squeezing slippery bars out of their hands. 

His mouth opened in a wordless cry, the sound swallowed by the rushing darkness surrounding him, as Allison’s hand fell away. But they didn’t stop - _couldn’t_ stop - as they rushed through the seemingly endless void. 

They hurtled through time and space – they hurtled through other _worlds_ \- and Five knew that whatever they were traveling towards, wherever his power was leading them, was going to get them into a lot of trouble. Fuck. He was going to need one stiff drink after this.

* * *

Allison woke and immediately regretted it. Every godforsaken bone in her body hurt. God. Bones shouldn't hurt this much. They ached and groaned, protesting even the most minuscule of movements. Like breathing, which was an unfortunate necessity to her continued survival. 

Her skin felt stretched, paper thin, too little butter over too much bread. Or something like that. Her rib cage rattled with every inhale of air and a choked off groan passed her lips. 

Immediately the action brought a memory of her sister. Oh god. Vanya. 

Allison remembered when they had been younger, how she had treated Vanya. The two of them were the only girls in the family, and so logic would dictate that they would spend most of their time together. It hadn't been so. The blame couldn’t even be put entirely on their father. He had prevented Vanya, Number Seven, the normal one, from joining in, yes, but that hadn't stopped the others. Or rather, Five and Ben. 

She remembered the jealously that would fill her every time she came face to face with her three siblings sitting together - Vanya reading her music sheets, Ben’s face behind a thick book and Five behind an even bigger one. 

She had been filled with rage, or rather, looking back at it, a vindictive sort of pettiness. Every time she had caught them together, caught them defying their father, she would run and tell Luther, and together they would inform Reginald. 

The punishments would come for them - harsher training, cruel tests of endurance designed to teach them a lesson. Allison and Luther, Numbers Three and One, would crow in delight at their victory over their siblings. And still the three would sit together. 

Then, on one Saturday, during those precious moments of free time, she had wandered away from Luther. He had said something to anger her, though she had long since forgotten what it was. She had stormed off to her bedroom, to sit and brood, when she had heard the most beautiful music fill the hallways. Sneaking along the corridors, she had stopped at the slightly open door to Vanya’s room. 

Inside sat Ben and Five as usual. But instead of reading, both were giving their undivided attention to the slight figure in the center of the room, dwarfed by the large music stand placed in front of her, and in her hands, a golden violin. 

_This_ was the source of the music? And, _oh_ , what _music_. It filled the air around them, warm and inviting, a lilting melody one moment, a storming chant the next. It bobbed and wove itself around and around and she felt herself get sucked into the beauty of it. 

She didn’t know how long she had stood there, before heavy footsteps broke her out of her reverie. Turning, she had come face to face with Luther, who had clearly come searching for her, wanting to apologise. But when he noticed the scene through the door, his face had lit up with childish glee. 

She knew what he was thinking. Just the day before, in class, when Ben and Luther had been paired up for an assignment, it had been Ben who had been praised. And with good reason too. His half of the presentation had clearly been superior, not that she would tell that to Luther. 

Then, later on, when Five had once again trumped Luther in Physics (not that Luther would have had any hope of beating him), Five had gone on to mock Luther’s answer, ripping his entire essay into verbal shreds, and finishing it off with some sly remarks about his blind following of their father. Only, he used much harsher words, and had insinuated things that had caused Allison to blush and Luther to turn a brilliant shade of puce. 

She knew that Luther saw this as the perfect opportunity to get revenge on their brothers, and normally Allison would join him, hoping to take Five down by a peg or two, before his arrogance became stifling - but something made her pause, made her frown at Luther, instead of sharing his smile. 

Maybe it was the relaxed lines of Ben’s face, which were normally all screwed up by pain or anxiety. His eyes were closed, and a small smile stretched across his mouth as his body swayed along to the rhythm of Vanya’s song. 

Maybe it was the quiet joy she could see in Vanya’s expression, the fierce pride in her eyes as she hit all the notes, the way the normally shy and nervous girl held the violin with such confidence, such surety in her every movement. 

Or maybe it was how Five, normally so quick to rip others apart, to inflict cruel words that would hit at every hidden thought and insecurity his victim had tried so hard to bury, was content to listen quietly to his sister's music, with the same single-minded focus he gave to everything he attempted - as if Vanya’s music held within all the answers to the questions he had never asked. Who knows, maybe it did. 

Something made Allison pause, made her think, made her hold tightly onto Luther’s arm as she forcefully dragged him away from the familial scene playing out in front of her, a scene which caused a strange, dark pit to rise up inside of her. 

Maybe it was that pit, that unidentifiable feeling, that had caused her to later that day, rumour Luther into forgetting that the event had ever even occurred. Maybe that was why she had not told Reginald about what she had seen, and why she had stopped Luther from telling him as well. 

The knowing smile Five had given her, when later that year, she had gifted Vanya a stack of sheet music, had been overpowered by the quiet joy she had seen rise up in her sister’s eyes. 

She had loved Vanya then. The love Allison felt for her was one of the only pure things she had - one of the only things that she had created and cultivated without the help of her power. Something that she had achieved all on her own. 

But she had never told her, never let Vanya know this, and that, _that_ , was her greatest error. Perhaps if she hadn’t closed herself off, perhaps if she, despite the love she held for Vanya, hadn’t always put her own ambition before the others, perhaps…perhaps Vanya wouldn’t have felt the need to write that book, to air out all of their dirty laundry for the world to see, chasing the one, small bit of fame it offered. 

Perhaps, then, they would have been sisters, _true_ sisters. 

When she had seen Vanya again, after she'd lost everything that her power had given her, she had been filled with that same surge of affection. Here was a relationship, filled with years of things left unsaid, that maybe, just maybe, she could save. And she would do so, _without_ a rumour. 

It had been slow going, so slow, progress hindered by her own mistakes and Vanya’s bitterness. But they were getting closer. They were staring to work it out. And then that _asshole_ had been thrust into their lives, and he single-handedly destroyed all of their progress in one fell swoop... _Harold Jenkins._

When she had first seen him, her skin had crawled, a shiver of unease and disgust running down her spine. She hadn’t trusted him at all. And then when his true intentions had been revealed? 

Her entire being became _consumed_ with only two emotions, two thoughts. 

First, a heart stopping worry, a worry that formed a fat lump in her throat, caused her hands shake, and made tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Worry for her sister, a _need_ to know she was alright, that she okay, that she was _safe._

And then there was the anger. Pure, unbridled rage and _hatred_ for the man Harold Jenkins. She felt a need to rip him apart with her bare hands, for even _daring_ to take advantage of the beautiful, sweet, kind Vanya. She _loathed_ him. 

She had come searching for Vanya, hoping to save her from the monster that she had fallen in love with. Only when she had found her, the meek girl was gone. In her place stood a luminescent figure, radiating a brilliant white light. 

In myths, it was often spoken of shadows, of doppelgängers and figures shrouded in darkness, who were the perfect inverse of every person's being. But Vanya’s opposite seemed to be a shining, powerful beauty. Allison had wondered what it had meant, what that information told her about her sister. 

She hadn’t needed to wonder for long. 

She had made a mistake, she knew that now. To try and control, when she should have calmed and soothed. And for her troubles she had been punished, all of her power taken away in one fell swoop. Or rather slash. 

She had been drowning, drowning in her own blood, quashed by her sister and her own bad decisions. She had thought that that was the end, that her life would stop on that cold, hard floor, her body splayed out in a growing pool of blood, left behind by a sister she had never loved enough. 

Instead fate had decided to give her another chance, pulling her away from the brink, dragging her back across the precipice, to the world of the living. 

But when she had awoken, she had been forced to come to terms with the knowledge that Luther, brave, stupid, _self-righteous_ Luther had thrown their littlest sister into a monstrous steel trap. A cage that had been created with the very intention to contain her sister. 

And, _oh_ , wasn’t that a bitter pill to swallow. The small part of her who was still Number Three, desperate for Reginald’s praise, had kicked and screamed in anger, gnashed it's teeth at the the very _idea_ that Vanya could be anything but _normal_. Anything but the weak willed creature who had followed them with hunched shoulders, always two steps behind Reginald. Pathetic. Vanya couldn’t be more powerful, be stronger, than _her_. 

Only she was, and it was killing her. 

She had wanted to scream at Luther, force him to see how absolutely _wrong_ about Vanya he was, but her voice was silenced. She had to make do with a fierce glare, letting the full might of her ancestor's stern gazes shine behind her eyes, and hope that her anger and disappointment came through. She had felt a vicious burst of satisfaction when he had flinched. 

When her legs had finally managed to support her weight, she had taken off running to Vanya. She had failed her before, failed her sister time and time again, but this time, this time she would not. 

The theatre was overwhelming. A cavern filled with the familiar haunting melodies that only Vanya seemed to produce so well. 

She had stood transfixed, taken back to all those years ago. To when she had first listened in, when she had first heard her sister play. 

And Vanya, who was still within the thrall of her power, had looked up and met her gaze. Her breath had been knocked right out of her lungs when Vanya had given her a little smile. It was small, but it held so much emotion, so many unspoken words. Oh, it was dazzling in its brightness, far outshining the light surrounding her. 

Allison wanted to shout, to yell encouragements, to tell Vanya how _fucking proud_ she was. How she loved her, how she forgave her, how, if Vanya gave her the chance, she would change herself, change her attitude - anything to make up for all those lost years. Do _anything_ to become her sister again. 

If Vanya’s smile, which had become even brighter, was any indication, the message had been received. 

But then, of course, her brothers had rushed in, ruining the moment, and Allison had watched helplessly as that blank mask fell once again over Vanya’s face. 

The moon died a fiery death as Vanya collapsed to her knees, and Five had desperately grabbed at their hands, yelling about forming a circle. Then there was only an all-encompassing darkness. 

Allison could feel Five’s desperation as he clung on to her hand, and then- 

Light. 

She was lying face down, the uneven surface cool against her skin as she struggled to drag herself out of her memories. 

Lethargically, she blinked open her eyes, and was met by a face full of rich, dark earth. She opened her mouth and accidentally breathed in a lungful of the dirt. 

Trying to muster the willpower to move, she groaned and rolled onto her side, lifting her head up and looking around her. Her eyes briefly flared with pain as her vision slowly adjusted to the brightness of her surroundings. 

A bright blue sky, more vibrant than any she had seen before, highlighted the dark green pine trees that surrounded the small clearing she lay in. 

Small, delicate flowers were scattered in the grass, bright spots of yellow and white amongst the emerald green. Strange, heavy fruits hung from the trees. A breeze that carried the scent of snow from distant mountains left them swinging gently.

She glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was only a colourful bird pecking at the ground, green plumage scintillating in the sun. 

It really was a very picturesque little scene, if you ignored the three bloody bodies that lay in it. Wait...three? 

Starting to panic, her breaths coming in short, cut-off pants, Allison tried to stand up and walk to the closest body, but her legs failed her, and she ended up crawling towards the crumpled shape, her multiple attempts to stand upright only resulting in falling back to the ground. 

Her arms clawed their way across the space between them, dirt catching underneath her nails as she did so. 

She reached the body and gently turned it over. The pale face of her sister stared up at her, face resting in an oddly peaceful state, a surprising fact considering the events that had occurred before their escape of the end of the world, and the end of _their_ world. 

She shook Vanya’s limp form, until, _finally_ , she started to shift around. She didn’t wake, but at least she was alive. Relief filled her. Ok, good, this was good. Vanya was fine, she was ok. She blew out a small breath and clutched at her sister's startlingly cold hand. 

Reassured for the moment that her sister was not, in fact, dead, she looked over at the other body in the clearing. The very clear shape of Luther, who was also just starting to stand up, looked over at her. She sat watching him, seeing how he favoured his left leg as he stood. 

“Allison! Are you alright?” he glanced around at their surroundings, before his eyes widened landing on Vanya’s prone shape. 

He started towards her, injured leg forcing him to move in a strange loping gait, making him, to her gaze, appear more ape-like. She snorted quietly to herself. 

“Get away from her! She’s dangerous!” He yelled, arms swinging wildly as he approached. 

_‘She’s my sister, I can’t just abandon her,’_ Allison thought, somewhat ironically - but as she opened her mouth to say the words, her hand automatically came up to hold her wounded throat, and she remembered with startling clarity the hot pain of the bladed light slitting her throat, and caught herself before she could damage her voice further. 

Instead, she settled for a glare in Luther’s direction - ignoring his advice and turning back to Vanya, hand still held tightly in her grip. 

“Allison, I’m serious, she might hurt you again!” he finally reached the sisters and with a large hand, quickly took a hold of Allison’s arm, pulling her away. 

Allison dropped Vanya’s hand and fought back, trying to keep herself positioned by her sister’s side, but of course it was futile against the inhuman strength of Luther and his overwhelming stubbornness. 

Suddenly she was filled with such an unfathomable rage towards him in that moment, such hatred, clenching her fists tightly enough that her nails cut into her palms. How could he do this? How could this man, this man that she thought she had loved, pull her away from the injured Vanya? Pull her away from her injured _sister?_

How could he have such disregard for his own _family?_

He was blinded by his own self-righteous thoughts, blinded to the sweet, sad Vanya that they had all grown up with. All he saw was a monster that had destroyed the world, a monster that he refused to see he had helped create, that they _all_ had helped create. 

She stopped fighting, if only so that he would stop taking her further away from her little sister. He let her go, and she rooted around in her pockets for her pad and pen. Luckily, the pen was still tucked inside her pants, but her pad of paper was nowhere to be found. Probably lost to the blazing inferno that had consumed their home. She swallowed slightly at the melancholy thought, before hastily clearing it from her mind. She would have time to mourn later. Now, now, she needed to get her message through Luther’s thick-skull. 

She settled for writing on her hand. 

“We can’t leave her,” she wrote, shoving her hand into his face, and giving Luther one of her fiercest glares for extra measure. 

“Yes, we can. She’s _dangerous,_ Allison.” 

“We’re all dangerous Luther. I will never forgive you if you force me to leave her behind.” She knew that this, if nothing else, might give Luther some pause. 

“At least let’s figure out what happened to us,” she wrote in the silence that followed. 

Luther reluctantly acquiesced to her request, and looked around the clearing more carefully, taking note of their surroundings, probably looking for possible foes, lurking in the undergrowth. She rolled her eyes so hard, she feared they might come out. It would be worth it though. 

“I don’t see anyone other than us three. We must have been separated.” He said at last. 

Allison dimly remembered losing grip of Five’s hand in the middle of the swirling darkness the time jump had taken them through, and slowly nodded her head in agreement. 

“Something went wrong,” she wrote. “We have to find them.” 

Luther nodded. “Do you have any idea where we are?” 

Allison shook her head, and wrote on the rapidly dwindling space on her arm, “We’ve got to find some form of civilisation.” 

This time it was Luther who nodded, albeit reluctantly, glancing over at Vanya. An expression of distaste flickered across his face, and Allison felt more irritation flare up inside of her at the sneer on his face, but she quickly squashed it. They would need to work together to find the others. But it didn’t stop her from raising a single, pointed eyebrow at him, just daring him to leave Vanya behind. 

“Fine. We’ll take her with us. But you’re not going near her until we know she can’t hurt you.” Luther grunted out, before he bent to pick her up. 

Allison supposed she could live with that compromise for now. She didn’t try to point out that if Vanya woke up and became that freaky, powerful being, even Luther wouldn’t be able to stop her from doing anything. She figured that probably would not help her argument. 

Together they turned and slowly limped out of the beautiful, tranquil clearing - one scarred woman, one behemoth of a man and one small, bloody figure in his arms. 

The strange procession paused briefly at the edge of the clearing, before plunging forwards and into the forest, and the unknown. 


	2. A Tired Fae, a Flamboyant Human and one Particularly Scary Queen: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rushing, whirling darkness. And then...silence.
> 
> Well...not really _complete_ silence, Klaus supposed. He was starting to hear the faint chirp of birds in the distance, rushing water somewhere nearby, the wind blowing through trees. He cracked open his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again, just as quickly.
> 
> “Oh god, sun, why? Why do you hate me?” he groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...it took wayyy longer than we thought it would to get this up.. These past few weeks we’ve been swamped with assignments and tests so... And yeah, this has been split into two parts because we just kept writing. Next part will be up later depending on how we do editing wise!  
> Also thank you to everyone who gave kudos and comments, you guys are awesome :)
> 
> Anyways enjoy!

Aedion was tired. No, scratch that, he was fucking _exhausted._ His body hurt, and his muscles ached with every step. And then to top it all off, he was developing a vicious migraine, which alone would’ve killed him.

Godsdamn but it was bad.

His company had been walking along this godsforsaken mountain route for five days now, barely stopping to rest, and when they did, only for a few hours at a time.

They were on the hunt. 

The Bane was steadily making their way northwards, hurrying in the destructive footsteps left behind by their erstwhile prey. 

It had been two very long years since Erawen’s and that Bitch-Queen Maeve’s armies had been slaughtered, and yet, unrest still roiled across the land, the sour taste of the two dictator’s rule still lingering in the air, a seemingly unwashable stain on the land.

Small uprisings had sparked, as uprisings were wont to do, in the immense power vacuum that had been left behind by the defeat of such large armies - people wreaking havoc for the sake of havoc. Adarlan was a good example of this. 

It seemed as if all the rage and resentment that had been bottled up under tyrannical rule, had finally exploded outwards after the deaths of the two greatest dictators. People now saw how rulers _weren't_ infallible, that they _could_ be killed off.

Hundreds of people, from almost every town, in a desperate grab for power and stability, had formed wandering bands of marauders. They advocated freedom, whilst they took it away. They advocated peace, whilst inflicting violence and unspeakable horrors on others.

Rape, murder, thievery, torture.

After the first stories had reached his Queen’s court - stories of the horrors being inflicted by these groups, Aelin had risen from her chair, a blank look on her face, and excused herself.

She had returned much later, eyes hard and cold, and began to make the necessary preparations that were needed to stop the murderous bands. Permanently.

It had only gotten worse. 

A few months after they had first heard of these groups, news had arrived by way of numerous messengers, who carried with them information pertaining to the situation in Adarlan.

It hadn't been good. 

By the time the Bane had finally managed to reach the country from where they had been camped out in Terrasan, it had been too late. 

The kingdom was in ruins - looters and rioters running amok, and Rifthold utterly decimated. The marauders had long since passed on, their dirty work done, leaving behind a cesspit of human death and waste.

Aedion shuddered faintly at the memory. Bodies had been strewn across the ground, the dead indistinguishable from the living. Faint screams could be heard at all times, and the buildings that hadn't been destroyed by wyvern fire from earlier in the war, had been pulled apart by greedy hands, hoping to find something, _anything_ , of worth in that mess of a city. 

The air had smelled strongly of, well, let’s just say the shit and piss had been the most savoury of the smells. But the scent of blood and death had been overpowering. Empty eyes set in hollow faces had followed them around as they traversed what was left of the streets, and his men, though hardened against the devastation of war, had shuddered.

Aedion remembered the utter heartbreak that had flashed across Dorian’s face as the young King took in the remnants of his home, of his people.

His expression had just as quickly become blank, and with a flick of his wrist, Dorian had dismissed them. Permanently. Aedion had tried to protest at first, saying that the young King would need protection in his shadow of a city, but Dorian had simply smiled savagely, showing too many teeth, before flaying a would-be mugger alive, with another quick flick of his wrist. 

His men hadn't cared that much. In truth, they were only there because of their sense of duty to Aedion, and by default his Queen. As for Adarlan? 

Although it may have been the homeland of many of them, they knew all too well, from personal experience and at the behest of the late King, what their country had done to those who had rebelled against it, what tortures had been reserved for those who had dared cross the line, or who had simply angered the late King.

With the assurance that Dorian could look after himself, and that he would stay close to the twenty men Aedion had insisted he keep with him, he bid Aedion goodbye before entering the city, head bowed forward in determination, the blood-red cloak he wore the last thing Aedion saw before he was swallowed up by the ruins.

Once Aedion had returned to Terrasen’s court, he could see the worry his Queen had felt for her friend. He had tried to reassure his cousin, but her worry hadn't lessened in the slightest, even after months passed by. Every time he and the Bane came back from one of their hunts to report, her worry had only become worse.

Aedion hadn't been too fussed at first. At the time, the young King’s coping methods had seemed far healthier than his cousin’s, who usually stabbed the problem in the face until it went away. But later, he found out that Dorian had cut off most communication with the outside kingdoms, including the Witch Queen, as well as Aelin.

He could see how Aelin’s worry grew, the small pinch in her brow appearing as she stared for too long at Dorian’s last letter, which declared that, yes, he was well thank you, and no, he would not be requiring any aid at the moment, and if you could please stop asking, that would be great, thanks.

He had offered to travel all the way to Rifthold and drag Dorian, kicking and screaming, back to Terrasan. Aelin seemed to actually consider it, before Rowan had bent down with a serious look on his face, and whispered quietly enough into Aelin’s ear so that Aedion couldn't hear the words. He had strained his ears (because yes, he was eavesdropping) but could only just make out the word ‘cloak’. It didn't tell him much.

Aelin had frowned in response, but had nodded her head in agreement, before quickly moving on to discussing where the best place for stationing the Bane was, in order to catch the next roving band of marauders that was now moving into their lands, the matter of Dorian forgotten for the moment. She had relaxed far more after that.

That lead them to their current position.

They had been on the trail of this particular group for months now. They were wily, and always seemed to be a hundred steps ahead of the Bane. Hence the endless marching and lack of proper sleep. The Bane had split up, one group staying off to the far side of the mountain, led by Beorn, one of Aedion’s best commanders and close friend. They would walk around the range before crossing over the mountains at their lowest peak, and wait for Aedion’s group at the far bottom, where the climate was warmer. 

Aedion’s half was following a winding trail through the forests at the mountain’s base, which then ascended at the steepest part, directly along the route the marauders had taken, walking endlessly up one side of the Northern Mountains.

Kyllian caught his eye from the back of the line and grinned, making a vulgar gesture with his one hand and pointing his short sword at Aedion with the other. There was a chorus of laughs from around them and Aedion smiled in response, before pointing his own hand at the silver ring on his finger, causing Kyllian to clutch at his chest in mock betrayal before swooning.

In some ways, the hard, exhausting trips and battles were worth it. This was one of them. Two whole months with just him and his men. Many of the original Bane had died, others had tired of war and left, but some, some remained. Kyllian was one of them. He couldn't begrudge the men who had left, Elgan being one of them. Hell, if he were sane, he would probably have considered it to.

These long, uninterrupted campaigns meant that he could again joke around and connect with the men he called his friends. Despite the horrors they saw, and the horrors they were struggling to prevent, he found himself smiling more often than not at their antics.

A drawback, of course, was that Lysandra couldn't be here to join him. No, she probably lay warming herself in front of the vast fireplaces back at the court.

He wanted to be with her, the two of them relaxing in front of the heat of the hearth as she told him her wild stories, stories that were probably more fiction than truth - although the last time he had suggested as such, he had been forced to sleep in the guest room. The memory made his smile widen, becoming a grin.

But no, instead he was here, trudging through the cold, snowy range of the far North, tracking a band of killers over near-impassable terrain.

And wasn't that the problem he continually faced? Whether to spend time with her, or his men. Both were important to him, and both did not mix with the other. 

Their boots crunched, sinking deep into the heavy snow with each step. Pine needles were littered across the surface, a brilliant green, stark against the white. Towering trees crowded around them, forcing them to bob and weave around.

The marauder band they were following was a particularly vicious one. They had burnt out three villages on their journey through the mountains, leaving behind husks of the once thriving communities. What little people hadn't been killed in the rampages, had succumbed to the elements. 

The Bane had found only fifteen survivors, two of which, after being rescued, had taken their own lives, unable to deal with the tortures inflicted upon them, and the knowledge that all their friends and families were gone.

This time, they would hopefully catch up before the group struck again.

They came upon a clearing, and Tarrin, their navigator and a fierce cartographer, called a sudden halt. The men were grateful for it, many flopping down into the snow where they stood. Aedion, who had been on many missions with Tarrin, knew that he would not call a halt for something as trivial as rest. The old man would often not let the others take a break until someone managed to sweet-talk him into relenting.

He’d been trained in one of the scouting regimes in his youth, where they would walk for days on end without even the smallest of stops. Tarrin always told the ones who complained about his relentless pace, how they wouldn't even pause to piss, simply aiming to the side as they walked onwards. 

That meant something was very wrong. He shouldered his way forward until he stood by Tarrin’s side.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

Tarrin pointed a finger to a spot on the map before gesturing his arms about, pointing at the land surrounding them.

“It just don’t make no sense commander. This should by rights, be the edge of a small village by the name of Fent, our destination. The map ain't wrong, I've checked all the landmarks. See that ring of trees? This clearing is right where the entrance of the village should stand.”

Aedion felt a small pit form in his stomach. It couldn't be-

He shouted down to Kyllian, who jogged towards them, grin fading as he caught sight of Aedion’s grave expression.

“What's wrong Commander?”

“Get the men to dig under the snow. Just a meter or two, nothing tremendous. I need to see what's underneath.”

“You don't think-” Tarrin breathed out, before cutting himself off, voice catching slightly as he paled.

Aedion nodded grimly.

“I do.”

Tarrin made a sign to ward off evil, not that Aedion thought it would do any good, before joining Kyllian and the men in digging. They did so quickly, sensing their Commander’s worry.

Aedion pulled aside Lyeon, a solider from the snowy terrain of the higher mountains. He was Beorn’s younger brother, an energetic boy, about a year or two younger than his Queen, who had joined after the war, much to the general consternation of his family. 

Beorn had begged Aedion to take him, hoping that the boy, surrounded by the vastly more experienced solders, would not have to take part in many of the skirmishes. So far it had worked.

“How old would you say this snowfall is?”

Lyeon blinked up at him, slightly startled, and a little starstruck, before bending down and examining the snow. He took a stick from a nearby tree and pushed it in, quietly murmuring to himself before gazing at the forest line. He shook his head.

“Difficult to tell sir. I’d say heavy snow for a few days would be enough for this. Probably been here a week or so.”

“Fuckfuckshitfuckfuckshit,” he muttered to himself, before proceeding to work through the long list of curses he had accumulated over the years, becoming more creative as he went along, and then switching languages to add more flavour. Fuck.

The young blonde looked up at him in shock, before understanding dawned on his face. Aedion could see the exact moment when Lyeon fully realised the implications, as the boy’s light skin immediately paled further, and he turned to the side, heaving.

A cry of horror circled around the group. So, they too had figured out the reason for the digging.

“Aedion, how-it's not possible! We were following right behind them! We would have noticed if-if,” Kyllian started before cutting himself off and cursing in realisation, “Shit, there’s more than one group, isn't there?”

Aedion nodded in response.

His men were sickened by the realisation. They stared down the tiny holes they had dug, down at the snow-covered, charred remains of Fent.

He motioned for Kyllian to follow him from where he had been staring worried at Lyeon’s hunched form.

Kyllian hurried to his side and bent down slightly, understanding quite correctly that this was for his ears only.

“Not just any group. A rogue coven of Witches or Fae. It's the only way we could have completely missed their tracks.”

Kyllian swore again.

He turned away, trying to distract his thoughts from the guilt he felt at failing yet another village, and faced outwards. He wondered if the bandits they had been chasing had encountered the new group and joined forces, if the Bane would have to fight two sets of murderers. He hoped the fuck not.

The soldiers pulled themselves together, and started off once more, far slower, many of the men understandably hesitant to walk over what was essentially a grave. A grave filled with the restless spirits who had died violent and pain-filled deaths. Aedion felt himself shudder.

What had once been a peaceful calm in the forest, was now a far more ominous silence, one that still seemed to remember the massacre that taken place in its boughs. Aedion could see the men around him make small symbols with their hands, hoping to ward off the evil.

For though they had seen their fair share of bloody battlefields and often even bloodier aftermaths, there was a marked difference between that and walking across a mass grave. Many cultures had stories about what would befall those who found themselves, unawares, traipsing through someone’s final resting places. The more violent the death, the more violent the spirit. Or so they said.

He could see that they were uncomfortable, often glancing side to side, peering as far as their eyes would allow in the rapidly darkening air, for any sign of something amiss, straining their ears for even an inkling of a rustle.

At one point, a bird let loose a terrific screech, before diving through the air. Aedion was sure someone had nearly pissed themselves. Probably Lyeon.

He couldn't blame them for their fear though, because he was also scared. Not of the potential for spirits though, no, he was scared of a far more tangible foe. The mysterious second band. 

With Fae they might have a chance - unless of course, they were from the army or held great power. But Witches? Most of them would be dead before they even knew what was happening, and the others would be kept for entertainment. He looked again at the snow - snow that was empty of anything save their own tracks. If what Lyeon said was true, then the new band must have crossed in little under two days.

That, coupled with the fact that they had left no scent or even a hint of tracks made him suspect something that turned his blood to ice.

Because to do that, they would have never touched the ground. And if that was true, then there was only one thing this new group could be.

Gods, they were royally fucked.

Kyllian tried to catch his eye a few times and Aedion suspected that he, too, knew that there was something else wrong. Thankfully he didn't mention it. The men didn't need anything more to worry about.

The air was steadily becoming cooler, the night settling in, the sky slowly descending into an array of pinks and purples, and then turning a deep blue-black all at once, the way night skies often did - Autumn turning to Winter.

They were all dressed in heavy furs, but Aedion knew from experience that it would still be a chilly night, that the biting cold would still find a way to crawl in through their coats and freeze their balls off.

After this, he declared to himself, they _would_ spend a minimum of three months at Court, spending winter there, and, finally, _finally_ getting a chance to sleep. They deserved a fucking break.

They walked through most of the night, weary feet dragging along, fear keeping them from stopping for even a moment. Their minds conjured up terrifying visions in the dark - monstrous faces appearing in the corners of their eyes, and fading away into shadow when they looked too carefully for them. 

The scent of burning wood drew them up short, breaking them out of their stupor. The moon was at its height, stars covered by stormy clouds.

His men turned to look at him, looking for guidance on how to proceed. Aedion grimaced.

He motioned for their torches to be dimmed, for weapons to be readied and formation to be taken. They did so quickly, bouncing on the balls of their feet, getting their blood pumping, shaking off the last vestiges of their exhaustion. They would rest after this.

He made the hand-sign for stealth and gestured for Kyllian to come up behind him. Since the two of them were the quietest, they would scout ahead. 

It would be dangerous, to be the scouts entering a territory where your enemies could smell you coming. This, coupled with the fact that if they were attacked when away from the rest of the Bane, the two of them would be the most likely to survive, having both the most experience fighting and fighting together as a team, meant that he would risk no other.

They crept forward slowly, Aedion leading with his better sense of smell and hearing, and Kyllian following in his tracks, making sure to only step where his commander did. Although this would by no means fool an experienced tracker, it _would_ make them pause for a bit.

The woods came to a stop at the edge of a rocky outcrop - a veritable cliffside. Aedion looked down and immediately froze, feeling Kyllian stiffen beside him from where he was standing at his shoulder.

There, at the bottom of the open-ended ravine, was exactly what he had feared. A group of Witches. And not just any Witches. Rogue, wyvern-riding Witches.

His heart was pounding, a rapid _thrum thrum_ echoing in his ears. His throat closed up and he struggled to swallow, mind flashing back to the screams of the enraged beasts, the sounds of flesh being torn, blood in the air, screams of the dying, wyvern against wyvern, as the skies filled over the immense battlefield, two flying armies clashing.

If the way Kyllian’s hand tightening on his arm gave any indication, he was remembering the same thing.

Fuck, fuck _fuck_.

This was bad. 

Before leaving the court, word had reached them of a large group of Yellowleg Witches that had gone rogue. They were last seen on the other side of the continent, and the fact that they had gotten here so quickly was worrying. And confusing.

Aedion had seen the wyverns flying before, had seen the vast distances they were able to cross, but never at this seemingly impossible speed. But that was a riddle for another day. Now, now they just needed to ensure they all got out of here unscathed and hidden. If a Witch caught even the smallest whiff of their scent, then they’d be after the Bane like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds.

Peering down further, he saw the source of the of the woodsy smell. Towering pyres had been built, burning beacons lighting up the night sky. And on them...

He could just make out the writhing forms, of what he assumed were the bandits they had been tracking. And there, along the edge, he could just make out with his Fae eyes the freshly dismembered bodies of the unfortunate villagers who hadn't been killed in the initial strike, captives for the Witches’ pleasure. They looked as if they had been killed barely an hour ago.

The Yellowlegs were dancing around the screaming bodies, crowing in perverted delight.

They needed to leave. Now.

A warning needed be sent out to the Witch Queen.

He gently took a hold of Kyllian’s hand and tugged him away from the edge, moving as silently as he could.

Luck seemed to be on their side. The wind was blowing away from the witches, hiding their scents. Hopefully the howling air rushing against the cliff face masked any sounds they made.

This time he shoved Kyllian in front of him, keeping the shocked man upright and steady.

They moved swiftly back down the path, quiet feet treading the ground as softly as possible.

When they arrived back at the main group, Aedion immediately signalled for his men to hurry back down the way they had come. He could see that some wanted to protest, but one look at his face, the cold expression he wore, was enough for them to change their minds. Quickly sheathing their weapons, they followed.

Aedion led the group on a winding route down the way they had come. After an hour or two, they swiftly climbed up again, and then traversed across the top of the mountain for a bit before repeating the whole cycle, steadily moving lengthways across the mountain.

He hoped that it would be enough to throw any possible Witches who tracked them off their scent. When he deemed it safe enough, they would begin to traverse down the mountain, the opposite of the way they had come, and hope to appear in the warmer territories of the coastal regions once they reached the bottom. 

However, they would be on the same side of the mountain as the Witches, albeit miles further down, hence the winding route.

It had to be enough, _needed_ to be enough.

He would not lose any more of his men.

The burst of adrenaline from the fear of being found was slowly fading, and his men lagged more and more with every step. They had been walking non-stop at this punishing pace for more than a day and night, and his men were beginning to tire. Even he, with his half-fae inheritance, was beginning to feel the burn and strain of abused muscles.

He changed direction once more before he began walking downwards. He could hear the groaned complaints and fought the urge to join in, because fuck, all he wanted to do was to rest.

The sky was beginning to lighten now, bringing with it a bright sun. The air was still bitingly cold, the sun still too new. It reflected off the snow, blinding those who gazed at it for too long, gleaming like a silverfish's scales.

The thought of fish sent a pang of hunger right through him, and his stomach tightened in response.

The farther they descended, the warmer the air became, until the very snow they walked upon had transformed into a soggy mush, water seeping into their shoes, squelching with each step, boots sinking into the quicksand-like mess.

Soon they could do little more than stumble along, only barely managing to stay upright. Their breath came in heavy pants, their feet ached with each step.

Aedion had developed blisters some time ago in their hasty exit, and now they stung. With a fiery vengeance. He wasn't the only one either. Lyeon was lagging slightly, eyes drooping, and Aedion could hear him sucking in pain-filled breaths from where he was walking at the front.

Just a little bit longer. All they had to do was walk a little bit longer. Then there would be food and blessed, blessed sleep. Gods, if Aelin ever asked him to do this again, he would politely ask her to fuck off, on behalf of the whole Bane.

Shit, Beorn better have prepared a whole fucking feast for their arrival.

* * *

Rushing, whirling darkness. And then...silence.

Well...not really _complete_ silence, Klaus supposed. He was starting to hear the faint chirp of birds in the distance, rushing water somewhere nearby, the wind blowing through trees. He cracked open his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again, just as quickly.

“Oh god, sun, why? Why do you hate me?” he groaned.

He opened them again, this time more slowly, peering out at his surroundings.

The bright light was practically blinding after the inky darkness of the... _whatever_ it was that dear old Five had taken them through. Where was the little bastard anyway? 

He tried rolling onto his side, but a sudden stab of pain in his stomach caused him to flop back into his original position. Ooh bad idea. Goddamn pain, goddamn ground, goddamn light. 

He groaned again and attempted to push himself back onto his feet. He fell. Or rather, he nearly did, as there were suddenly a pair of strong arms supporting him, lifting him up. He flailed in surprise and heard a startled yelp. 

“Jesus you idiot! Watch what you’re doing!” Diego shouted, clutching at his nose, which had recently become acquainted with Klaus’s bony elbow.

“Ahh Diego, my knight in shining armour,” he patted his brother in the vague direction of his shoulder before pushing off from him, wobbling slightly, “Hey, hey, have you seen Five anywhere? The little shit ruined my shirt. I need to kick his scrawny ass,” he stumbled again, arms flying out as if to steady him, “God, I feel like I’m going to puke.”

Diego followed behind his drunken walk, rolling his eyes every time he had to reach out to stop Klaus from falling.

“He’s there,” Diego pointed to a crumpled, bloody shape a little further away from them. Five. “Who knows, maybe you’ll beat him. Doubt it though.”

They limped over to his prone shape. 

“He looks a lot younger asleep,” Diego remarked, somewhat ironically. Five was technically the oldest in the family...by about forty years or so, the crotchety bastard. 

“Yeah, and less bitey too,” Klaus said, growling a little whilst curling his fingers into claws and miming biting at Diego, who pushed him away, before turning back to Five. Klaus poked the unconscious form of their brother with his foot.

“Hey Five, Five, you awake there little buddy?”

There was silence.

“Huh, guess not then.”

Diego crouched down and placed his fingers on Five’s neck, before pressing his ear to his chest. Well what d’ ya know? Looks like Diego wasn't lying when he’d told him about that basic first aid course he had taken. 

Klaus idly poked at his wound, taking in their surroundings a bit more carefully than before. 

They were in a bit of a valley between two very large, rocky hills. To their left, he could just make out a range of what looked like mountains capped in snow. At first glance, a vast expanse of flat, dead ground made up most of the immediate scenery. 

Although, after more careful examination, Klaus could see little patches of green were starting to appear here and there, pushing up from the crackly ground, like a lovely bunch of warts sprouting up from an old woman’s wrinkly face. 

He could also smell a faint whiff of salt on the breeze, coming in from what he guessed to be the north. The ocean must be fairly close then. 

The three of them were currently standing (well, only two of them were actually standing, the third was busy lying in an awkward heap on the floor) amid what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient village. 

The old stone walls were so broken down, you could barely tell that they had once been holding up a house. 

They looked rather like the ruined pile of Lego bricks that had once been Diego’s greatest creation, after Luther’s lovely fat ass had mistakenly used it for seat when they had been children. 

He was sure he still had the scar somewhere on his back from the time when good ol’ Luther had, in his violent and passionate throes of anger, shoved him back into a windowsill’s corner, half impaling him. _Oh glorious childhood!_ Weren't those the days!

Curiously, the vines and plants growing over the structures seemed to be fairly young, new shoots as it were. It wasn’t as overgrown as you’d expect a place like this to be, wasn't as _viney_ , like all those cool derelict buildings in _Scooby Doo_ had been. He snickered. Five would be Velma, smart but with one Achilles heel, she her glasses, him his current inability to remain conscious. That would make Diego...Fred, the plan maker, maker of plans, that never worked. 

_Ooh_ that would mean he was Daphne. Fuck yeah! What an icon. He’d already figured out the credit card rope trick, although it wasn't necessarily always _his_ card that he used. It had come in handy that one time with that kinky little fucker in Dallas, the one with the creepy red... He shuddered.

He looked around for anything that looked even mildly interesting. He was slightly disappointed.

But, getting back on track, this hovel clearly hadn’t seen a human presence in _ages_.

And the curious, shy ghosts who were starting to appear at the edges of his vision only confirmed his theories.

He squinted at them, hissing. 

It still surprised him when more spirits started popping up out of nowhere. For years only the strongest of ghosts had been able to reach him, but now, now, that he was finally approaching some semblance of sobriety for once in his goddamn life, the ghosts were able to break through ‘the veil’.

He suppressed a little shudder at the image of all those souls trapped in this desolate dump of a place.

“I don’t know where the others are. We must have gotten separated during the jump.” Diego’s words brought Klaus back to the present.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.”

Diego rolled his eyes again before he frowned, peering more closely in Klaus’s direction.

“What? Do I have something on my face?" he asked before he twirled around, slightly prodding his cheeks.

“Are-are you _bleeding_?” Diego sounded shocked, and dare he say, a little worried.

“What? This old thing?” Klaus poked at his wound again, much to Diego’s horror. “Nah, it’s nothing much. Don't get your panties in a twist.” 

Diego grabbed Klaus’s wrists, stopping his prodding before releasing them in favour of grabbing Klaus’s shirt, lifting it up before pointedly looking at the wound.

Klaus ignored the silent question.

“Why Diego you rogue! I’ll have you know I'm _simply_ not that sort of man. Buy me dinner first at least!”

Diego didn't reply, seemingly intent on studying Klaus’s wound.

“ _Diego_. We can only have one incesty couple in this family or before you know it we’ll all be singing renditions of _Sweet Home Alabama_ toasting the portrait of the great Charles the Second of Spain whilst coveting our beloved copies of _Flowers in the Atic_ ,” each sentence was accompanied by increasingly grand gestures. Diego didn't take any notice.

He pouted down at his brother who still hadn't moved, too busy examining his wound, brow pinched in concentration.

“Doesn't it hurt?”

“Surprisingly, no. At the start, yes, but then it stopped. I mean, it didn't hurt when I poked it or anything.”

“You poked - Never mind. Of course you did,” Diego paused, then looked up at Klaus “What do you mean it went away?”

“Just that _mein bruder_. When I woke it hurt like a right sonofabitch, but now it's all sunshine and rainbows. That’s weird, huh?”

“Yes Klaus, that _is_ weird,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Wounds aren't supposed to do that.”

“Jeez, who bit your ass, grumpy. I was a little bit distracted by our dear old brother who’s currently lying _conked out_ at our feet, that’s all.”

Diego huffed and rolled his eyes again - an action he seemed to have trouble preventing whenever heinteracted with Klaus - and waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Just-Never mind. We’ll talk later.”

“Whatever you say darling.”

Klaus grinned as he heard his brother growl in response. He was sure Diego was trying to suppress yet _another_ eye-roll, when he turned on his heel and stalked towards Five’s awkwardly crumpled form, bending down and shifting him up into a bridal carry. 

Klaus made his way over, leaning over Diego’s shoulder to stare at their brother’s slack face.

“Dear little Five is not going to like that.”

“Yeah? You should have seen him when he got drunk.”

Klaus let out a fake gasp.

“No! Not my angel, he would never! He must have gotten it from his mother.”

Diego raised an eyebrow before shaking his head, quietly deciding not to ask.

“Puked all over Luther too.”

“Oh, there's hope for him yet!”

Diego grinned at that before turning and motioning for Klaus to follow.

“Aw do I _have_ to walk? I’ve been injured too, you know? Rehab really doesn't do much for one’s general fitness.” Klaus gave Diego his best puppy eyes, his face the picture of disappointment, arms stretched out in the universal sign of wanting a piggyback ride.

“Yeah, well you’re not unconscious right now, you idiot,” Diego snorted, impervious to Klaus’s, in his humble opinion, irresistible and frankly _adorable_ guise, the heartless bastard, “And we need to get out of here as soon as possible. It’s too exposed – we should head towards those mountains.” 

He made a sweeping gesture with his hands, pointing in the general direction of the faint silhouettes of the mountains in the distance. Klaus groaned. It was so _far_.

After a bit of grumbling from Klaus, they set off through the ruins, making sure to tread carefully, not wanting to risk a broken ankle in this unfamiliar and completely deserted terrain.

Well, almost deserted. Those ghosts were still lurking on the periphery of his vision, in the corner of his eye. There were hundreds of them, some clearer than others, newer, with gory stains across their clothes. Most of them seemed to be woman, dressed in strange costumes that looked like they came straight out of some medieval re-enactment village, and yes, he had been to one of those. It was Ben’s idea, the nerd.

Speaking of annoying ghosts and his erstwhile brother, where was Ben? He was usually always hanging around, like a particularly bad smell, one that always lingered, with no hope of it ever being gotten rid of.

He felt a pang of worry that he ruthlessly quashed. Nope, nu uh, no time for that.

His feet were beginning to ache, and he had no idea how Diego managed to keep a hold of Five for so long. Must be all that righteousness flowing through his veins, replacing his blood with pure strength. 

His brief reprieve from his aching wound had completely gone, and it was back to throbbing now, whatever had stopped it before, gone. 

The terrain hadn't changed at all. Rocks and dirt. That was all that there was to see for miles upon miles. The only difference was that some of the rocks had become bigger rocks, and the dirt had become more dirt. Could dirt even do that, become more? Whatever.

He was lagging behind slightly, struggling to catch up to Diego, who had passed around a boulder and was out of sight, when a small breeze brushed past his ear. Wait.

“Don’t move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes! There are a few Oc’s because there just seems to be no Bane soliders mentioned in the book other than Kyllian and Elgan of course
> 
> Kyllian: Kill-e-anne  
> Lyeon: Lee-on  
> Beorn: Bay-orn  
> Elgan: Ell - gan
> 
> And we also kinda maybe made up some lore for them (our oc’s ) cos we got carried away. Anyways Beorn is Lyeon’s older brother. We have plans for them.
> 
> Also fun times was me searching up ‘ugly prince who was incest’ and it immediately coming up with that one King of Spain
> 
> Also how was Klaus?


	3. A Tired Fae, a Flamboyant Human and one Particularly Scary Queen: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was beautiful, in an ‘I'll-cut-your-balls-off-and-laugh-as-I-burn-your-corpse' kind of way. Alas, striking as her appearance may be, he liked his balls where they were.
> 
> She gave him a strange look. Ah, had he said that out loud? The things you do and don’t notice when you’re so tired you’re just about to fall over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, haha, a month later here it is! 
> 
> The 'Particularly Scary Queen' that was not actually mentioned in the previous chapter

“Don’t move.”

Klaus felt a cool, sharp object against his throat. Shit. He froze. Slowly, he put his hands up, and turned around.

A young woman, with the most extraordinary white hair tied back with a blood red ribbon, was glaring at him. The sword held to his throat, coupled with the insanely fierce look she had on her face, made him tremble all over. Who, in this day and age, carried a sword? Probably Five, and their dear old Dad. He could almost hear old Reginald’s voice now, “One must always be prepared, Number Four.”

She was beautiful, in an ‘I'll-cut-your-balls-off-and-laugh-as-I-burn-your-corpse' kind of way. Alas, striking as her appearance may be, he liked his balls where they were.

She gave him a strange look. Ah, had he said that out loud? The things you do and don’t notice when you’re so tired you’re just about to fall over.

“Oh hello! Sorry, didn't see you there,” He waved his ‘Hello’ hand at her. “My, that's one nice sword you have there. My dad, may he be subjected to unimaginable pain, had one just like that, only it was less pointy and more—” He pumped his fist a little before laughing slightly, “It used to get all of the ladies.”

She just gave him a blank look, which honestly, was probably a bit more terrifying than if she’d just straight up glared at him.

“Tough crowd,” he whistled.

“Enough,” she snapped, pressing the edge of the blade deeper into his skin. He felt its cut, a sharp sting against his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diego holding the limp body of their brother, surrounded by a couple more beautiful yet terrifying women. He silently willed Five to get up and teleport them out of this situation. But of course, he didn’t magically wake up right as rain, the _bastard_.

“Who are you? What business do you have in my Kingdom?”

He turned his attention back to what should probably be the more concerning problem, if Five wasn’t, in fact, a deplorable bastard. 

“Oh, so this is _your_ Kingdom! We simply had no idea! My brothers and I will just be leaving, no cause for alarm,” he twirled his finger around by his head in the universal sign for ‘crazy’ before motioning at the women that had gathered around them - the women who were clearly a few marbles short of a set. “And what a nice Kingdom it is, all rocky, and dirty—” He was cut off by the blade pressing even deeper. 

“Shut up. Now, I won’t ask again. Who are you?”

Klaus was wrong, her glare was wayyy scarier than her blank look. It sent shivers down his spine, some sort of primordial part of his brain telling him that this, _this_ was a predator, and that he was the prey, the one that should cower and hide, bury his head beneath the sand in order to escape the horror of what faced him; escape that cool gaze of light-spun amber eyes. 

And it would have worked, should have worked. But he, he had seen the worst humanity had to offer, the worst _of_ humanity. Every time he closed his eyes, the dead screamed and screamed to be heard, to be remembered in that crushing void of nothingness. He had seen those with bodies that lived but had eyes that were dead - their souls leached out of them as they witnessed the horrors of war; as they committed those same horrors on the command of a government they thought they had trusted. He had seen walking corpses, dead bodies, _madness_.

He had lived on the streets, had lived through those glacial winters and burning summers. Had seen rape and murder and every crime in between. He had seen it all. This woman from some dirty shithole didn’t frighten him. He may have been the prey but, to humans, everything was prey. She might have been the predator that stalked his steps, but he, he would be the unexpected shadow in the dark. He did not fear her.

Klaus raised his chin and met her eyes without cowering. She pressed her sword harder into his throat, emphasising that he really needed to give her an answer soon, but he could now see something else in her eyes, something other than that cold indifference from before. It looked like respect.

He grinned.

“Ok, chill man. I’m Klaus, that’s Diego, and the little fucker passed out is Five. I think we’re probably in the wrong place. Wouldn’t stumble into your Kingdom thingy on purpose.”

Klaus saw Ben appear out of the corner of his eye, already shaking his head and burying his head into his hands in exasperation. But yay! Ben was here!

“You idiot. She clearly thinks she’s royalty. Treat her like it and maybe you won’t die,” exasperation and irritation filled his voice.

“Hey, that’s rude! How would you like it if a terrifying woman came up to you and threatened you with a sword to the throat? Oh wait, it wouldn’t matter would it?” Klaus said in a snide tone, “I think I deserve a little credit. Please and thank you.”

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” This came from one of the women standing closer to the back of the group. Klaus winced. He must really be tired if he’s talking to Ben with witnesses around.

“Oh, shit sorry, just chatting to my dead brother. Didn’t mean any disrespect...your uhh, your Excellency,” the last bit was directed to the woman in front of him. Ha Ben, take that! See, he could take constructive criticism.

There was a bit of a confused silence.

To his side, Klaus could feel his brother tensing up, preparing to move. And move he did. A knife came flying out of his hands, quick as a flash, knocking the sword out of the woman’s hand, leaving behind a thin red line across Klaus’s throat.

The ‘Queen’ growled, clenching her injured fist, blood seeping out of the wound left behind by the small blade. There would’ve been a lot more blood if she hadn’t had the fastest reflexes Klaus had ever seen. The knife had just barely nicked her.

Diego was holding two more blades, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, having dropped Five in his eagerness to fight. The other women were just as quick to react, the one who had spoken earlier, the brunette, and some other chick both moving forward. 

They were inhumanly fast, launching themselves at Diego. They moved in tandem, ducking and weaving around him, aiming blows, that if they had landed, would surely have crippled him.

Klaus edged away slightly to where the crumpled heap of his brother lay, squatting down. Ben followed, eyes fixed on Diego, with a somewhat amused expression on his face.

“Aren’t you going to help him?”

Klaus watched as one of the women aimed a kick at his brother’s head. Diego took it, too slow to dodge, and her foot planted itself on his cheekbone, snapping his head to the side as he stumbled, the force of the hit causing it to bruise the skin immediately. Klaus winced.

“Nah, he looks like he’s doing just fine.”

Diego let out a pained groan from where he lay on the ground, the brunette sitting on his chest. 

“Aww they’re getting along so well! I mean Nala and Simba met the exact same way and they got along just fine.”

Ben sighed, an exasperated sound Klaus had heard much too often, “Just help him, Klaus.”

“Alright, alright, no need to shout”

“ _Klaus!_ ”

“I'm going, I'm going” He groaned slightly as he stood, before he ambled over to where his brother was currently being wooed.

One of the women hissed at him to stay where he was, knife waving threateningly. Klaus raised his hands in surrender.

“Hey, there’s no need for that. Just wanted to see my erstwhile brother,” He crouched down again, ignoring the warnings to stay away, and came eye to eye with Diego, “Hey bro how ya doing?”

Diego moaned in pain.

“Good talk,” he turned to Ben, “See he’s fine!”

“I’ve had enough of this farce. Bind them,” the lead women snapped, hands clenching sporadically on her sword, knuckles white from what Klaus with all his experience in such matters guessed: the strain not to end his life. Rude. Many a person had tried, including his own brother, yet here he was. Somehow still alive. Take that world!

As if hearing his thoughts, she sent him a poisonous look. Ah, he still had his incomprehensible charm then. Good to know.

His arms were grabbed and roughly pulled behind him, tugging uncomfortably at the slash on his side. He winced. He heard one of the women snicker as they tied his hands together. as they tied his hands together.

Diego was pulled up onto his knees from where he had fallen. Once similarly bound, he was dragged to where Klaus was kneeling. bound, he was dragged to where Klaus was kneeling.

The lead woman grinned savagely as she stalked forward and towards them, twirling Diego’s knife in her hand all the while.

“It is not often that I forgive someone for throwing a knife at me, but even I can admit that your skill is quite impressive. But what cannot be forgiven is your trespass. This is Witchland, and you are in lands not ordained for you. Who are you to so boldly dismiss the words of the Queen of Terrasen, she who banned humans from our lands? For your own safety no less?”

“Or do you think her words are not worthy enough for people such as yourselves to obey?” Her voice had taken an even darker turn, every word dripping oily danger. Whoever this ‘Queen of Terrasen’ was, clearly held this woman’s respect.

This close, Klaus could see that her eyes were not the honeyed amber he had previously thought they were, but rather a cold gold. It seemed as if those eyes could see into the very depths of his soul. He shuddered. 

The woman leant in even closer, as if she could smell his sudden fear. Grinning, she turned to Diego, mood changing quickly, as if she had forgotten about the question she had just demanded an answer for. Whispering in an almost conspiratorial tone, she gestured to the other woman around her. 

“Between you and I though, I don’t think the rest of them will be just as forgiving of your attempt to strike their Queen.”

Diego’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of some of the women further away who were sharpening various weapons from where they had remained seated throughout the whole encounter. Their eyes were cold, lips turned up into wicked smiles, cruel tilts to their mouths.

God, they gave him the heebie-jeebies.

The woman, no, _Queen_ , straightened up before fixing them with a stern look.

“Now I’m only going to ask one more time. What is your purpose here?” She raised an imperious eyebrow at their continued silence.

“Three strangely dressed humans don’t wander into the Witchlands for no reason. Don’t try my patience any longer. I have given you ample opportunity to speak up. If you do not take this chance, I suppose that I’ll have no choice but to kill you.” She looked far too pleased at this last option.

“Right so, yes. Let’s try to avoid the ending of our lives for the moment. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a wee bit obsessed with death? I mean coming from the man who—” Klaus blabbed, before Diego’s elbow cut him off. 

The woman looked very close to sticking Diego’s knife into his head. Wouldn’t that be ironic, to be killed by his own brother’s knife? He tried again, this time speaking slower. 

“You see basically the end of the world was happening, and Five here tried to get us out, but of course something went wrong, because when does it not amiright?”

The woman, and he really needed to find out her name, she was starting to sound like all his nameless hook-ups where he’d just call them by their preferred pronouns in his head, just stared at him stonily.

“Well...anyway...something went wrong, and we landed up here, with Five unconscious and we’ve lost our other sib—”

“Klaus. I think she gets it.” Diego cut in. Oh. Right. Probably not a good idea to tell the scary people about how there were more of them.

“Hardly. You’ve babbled on about some shit about the ending of the world. We are aware of the ‘end’ of the known world, but it has been some two years since the final battle, failing to explain why you’re here. And, after all this time spent as acquaintances you haven't once mentioned your purpose here.”

Klaus started at hearing the faint humour in the last sentence. Alright! Maybe scary lady wasn't a total buzzkill. 

He frowned.

Hadn't he read somewhere that psychopaths were known for their sense of dark humour? Or was that just something he’d watched in a movie?

Diego interrupted his thoughts.

“We just did. Our homelands were destroyed by the...uh...”

“The war,” Klaus pointed out helpfully.

“Yes! The war! And me and my brothers, we ...uh... just barely managed to escape with our lives. We’ve actually been wandering lost this whole time.”

“Without supplies? For two whole years?” The Woman looked at them doubtfully.

“Ah! But we did have supplies—only—only—”

“We were attacked by bandits!” Klaus cut in.

“Bandits?”

“Yes! Horrible bunch and they all smelt absolutely awful. They took our stuff, whacked our baby bro upside the head and—and just _abandoned_ us to our fates!” Klaus forced his eyes to tear up, wobbling his lower lip, adopting the lost, wide-eyed expression of a wounded baby deer.

The Woman just looked slightly confused and a bit weirded out. Fair enough.

He narrowed his eyes at her. There was something else, something strange in her expression, almost longing, as if she had seen something familiar in his countenance. He focused a bit more, then froze. His hands were tingling slightly, the way they did when he called upon his powers. A quick glance down showed that they hadn't gotten frisky and turned that lovely shade of blue that signalled the start of many a nightmare-fuelled night for him. 

Good, he had stopped it in time. Whilst he always saw ghosts, the ones that had been killed a long time ago or didn't have a strong willpower, often didn't appear to him unless he slipped up and allowed them to. He had caught it in time. Or so he thought.

It was then that Klaus, from the corner of his eye, started to make out a few blurry shapes. The ghosts, because they could hardly be anything else, curse his luck, were multiplying in number rapidly, edging closer and closer to the—

Fuck. They all belonged to _her?_ Jesus, guess she was a psychopath then, he thought a touch hysterically. That was a lot. More than he had seen from Hazel and Cha-cha _combined_.

They were all looking at her with hatred in their eyes. The ones whose faces were still intact were twisted with the promise of violence. Their bodies were all bloody and, in some cases, no more than a few pieces of ripped, stringy flesh stuck to naked bones. Intestines hung out, and so did numerous other gory parts. Parts that belonged _inside_ the body _thank you very much_. And all of them, every single one, was mouthing, chanting, _screaming_ the same thing: Manon. the same thing: Manon.

Before he could stop himself, he murmured a quiet, “Wow, you’ve killed a lot of people...”

The Woman, now known to be Manon, thanks to the simply wonderful shouting ghouls, regarded him with a blank but puzzled expression on her face.

“Yes, I have. And trust me when I say you don’t want to be my next victim.” 

Klaus could agree with that.

Before Manon could ask the question clearly forming in her mind, about his frankly bizarre statement, strange blobs appeared up and across the horizon, their black shapes casting inky shadows over the ground.

Klaus looked up, startled, and saw to his amazement, what looked like _dragons_. Or rather their silhouettes, albeit a bit smaller than he imagined, but actual real-life dragons!

Manon and her subject’s heads snapped up and watched the dark shapes. Were they getting...bigger? No, they were getting closer. They were descending.

And on them he could just make out what looked like people, waving their arms up and down in excitement.

Had they somehow stumbled upon the world of How to Train Your Dragon? (And _yes_ , he had read the books _okay?_ It was one of his best memories).

It had been a long day, filled with the shakes and sweating that came with withdrawal, spent in a cramped bunk in one of his many, many, rehab centres. He had been tired and world-endingly bored, and much to his own (and his family’s if they ever found out), shock, he had pursued the on-campus library. It had been nothing more than a bunch of hazardous piles of books, but Ben had perked up, like an itty-bitty human bloodhound seeking its prey, at the sight of a small, well-read novel. 

He had stared at it for a while before his shoulders had dropped in disappointment and he had sighed, clearly remembering once more that he couldn't actually read it. 

Klaus, seeing this from the corner of his eye, had ambled over to the book in what he hoped was an unsuspicious and natural manner. He, as casually as he knew how, picked it up before making his way back to his bunk, whistling, watching Ben’s face light up.

Later, in the dark, when it was just the two of them, Ben had quietly confessed to him that sometimes, when he had been alive, and it all became too much, he would take his copy of the first book, the only book in the series he had, and read. They spent the next week’s nights going through the series, and when Klaus had finally been released, he had stolen book one, secreting it away in his coat. Ben had only smiled. it away in his coat. Ben had only smiled.

Then, a year or two later, when Klaus was rooting around in one of the large bins at the back of Kerrie's Health Store, he had found a small poster proclaiming the amazingness that was the HTTYD movie. Later that afternoon the two of them snuck into the theatre to watch. He wouldn’t lie, he had cried. A lot.

Klaus could feel Ben brimming with excitement at the sight of the dragons, reassuring Klaus that they weren't all some sort of wacky hallucination.

Gazing up at them, Klaus saw that there wasn’t really anything else about the winged beasts that he could compare to HTTYD. The figures were closer now, and the sharp light shined off the wicked blades and weapons in their hands, throwing into relief the battle-hungry expressions on their faces. their hands, throwing into relief the battle-hungry expressions on their faces. 

So, not excited to see them then. No, he had a niggling feeling that these figures, again all women, wanted to slaughter the whole lot of them earthbound walkers and dance on their corpses, cackling madly. And judging by the look of trepidation on the faces of the women surrounding himself and his two brothers, these people were not good news. In fact, Klaus could see answering looks of malice making their way onto their own captor’s faces and - woah was he glad that those looks weren't directed at him. that those looks weren't directed at him.

As the dragons drew even nearer, the hideous tilt of the riders’ mouths, twisted into savage, contorted snarls, became even clearer. Yep, not good. This was very much not good.

The women on the ground all stood, forgetting about their three prisoners, and fanned out into a circle around Manon, palming weapons, tightening loose buckles, readying themselves for what looked to be a large battle., readying themselves for what looked to be a large battle.

God why? Why did Fate, the bitch, drop them off at some unknown point that just _had_ to have a bunch of trigger-happy women, made of 80% violence and 20% rage, aching for battle. Why?

The very thought of battle sent a shiver down his spine. It brought him back to the humid jungle air of Vietnam, the overgrown paths, the bloody ground. And Dave. God, Dave. 

He swallowed, turning his head away from the scenes of preparation.

Diego was standing slightly in front of him, forming a barrier, and staring hard at the war-ready women.

He turned his head, hand coming up to grip Klaus’s shoulder.

“Hey you ok? With the war and everything…?”

Klaus felt his chest tighten slightly at the show of concern, a small warmth blossoming, leaves unfurling, like a tiny sapling in his heart. He grinned openly up at his brother, not replying immediately, hoping to convey with his eyes how much it meant to him for his brother to ask. To _care_. The hand on his shoulder tightened in response.

“Right as rain, brother-o’-mine and—” he paused, squinting at Diego’s now smug face before- “Hey! Your hand! You’re free!”

Diego took a small knife out from seemingly nowhere and used it to cut open the ropes binding Klaus. The women didn’t notice.

“Come on, this is our chance,” he said, “We need to—”

A large, booming crash interrupted him. A dragon.

It was large - body rippling with muscle. The sun caught and scintillated off its scales, a gleaming red that blinded him. It reminded him of the stories of lost gems, glittering jewels, rubies drip-drip dripping over the sides of large chests, nestled amongst golden coins. A story of legendary treasure for a creature straight out of legends.

The closer he looked however, the more imperfections he could see. On the far side of its scaled side was a patch of lighter skin - a stark slash, a scar of some kind. Further up were three gouges, probably given by one of its own kind. It was battle-worn. It was battle-worn.

The dragon had alighted on the plain just in front of the gathered women. Its rider dismounted in one graceful move, boots barely making a sound on the rocky ground. Her hair was a loose black, almost as dark as her eyes, and she wore a grin of savage delight on her face.

“Hello little Queen, how goes it?” she called. 

Manon stalked forwards to the front of her group, coming to stand directly in front of the newcomer. It meant that she ended up in the shadow of the large beast, but she didn’t give any indication that she feared it. No, in fact she seemed almost amused by its growling, as if it was nothing but a posturing puppy, trying to prove itself to its alpha. Klaus half expected Manon to reach out and whack it on its nose for bad behaviour.

The two groups were at a stand-off, neither side moving, their focus caught on their two leaders.

“Hello Yellowlegs, I’d say I was glad to see you but that’d be a lie,” she unsheathed a wicked looking blade from her side, “Now, what exactly is it that you’re looking for?”

The other grinned.

“Funny that you should ask, Traitor-Queen. I came for you.”

With a loud whoop the others landed. Both sides seemed to have been expecting it. In one fluid movement they formed ranks, closing in on each other, arms raising bladed weapons.

And then they clashed.

They were lightening quick, darting in and out of their opponents guards so fast that Klaus lost track of who was who, the fighters becoming blurs of violence. Ruthless with their attacks, red lines soon began to etch themselves into the skin of those too slow to doge. The air was filled with swooping dragons, letting out booming roars, diving down and rising up again, attempting to snatch up the unaware.

The combatants fought tooth and nail...literally. Both sides had revealed metal teeth and claws that had apparently been concealed within their skin. They were absolutely lethal.

He saw several of Manon’s soldiers, because soldiers were what they had to be, grabbing a hold of the dragon’s legs and pulling themselves up. There they would enter close-quarter combat with the rider, the two dancing with each other, as light footed as the Grand Opera’s ballerinas, on the backs of the great beasts.

Despite this, he could see that the dragon-warriors were far outnumbering Manon’s own. Even if they were the more skilled of the fighters, they would still definitely lose against those fearsome dragons, having been out-gunned and out-manned. He felt a small pang of regret, before quickly quashing it. That just wouldn’t do.

He turned to his brother, about to urge him onwards, before realising that whilst he had stood mesmerised by the sight of the battle before him, Diego had picked up Five, swinging him up into his arms, and moved off to the side, crouching beside a large rock outcropping. Thanks bro.

He squinted his eyes at where his brother sat, noticing for the first time his frantic arm waving.

“What? No—I don’t know what you mean—Hide?—No—Duck? Duck! Why are you miming a— _Dragon!_ ”

A reddish-orange dragon landed in front of Klaus. He screamed.

It was mishappen, missing great chunks of its shoulder to crisscrossing scars. He stumbled backwards and away from its towering form.

“Well, aren’t you an ugly fucker,” he blurted out in hysterical panic.

It was true. He did rather resemble what Klaus imagined Smaug’s left butt-cheek would look like. All red and _lumpy_. 

That didn’t make him any less terrifying though. He could see Ben in the corner of his eye shouting for him to run. 

“Gee, Ben that’s a real swell idea. Why don’t you tell me some more about how I’m supposed outrun a _fucking dragon!_ ”

He stumbled backwards before turning and sprinting to where Diego was shouting. Fuck. He took a wide turn around a pair of battling women and ducked under a blade slicing through the air right where his head had been. _Fuck_.

A loud roar followed him.

He put on another burst of speed, skidding across the uneven surface. He just had to keep going, just keep going, a little further, further-

He slammed into the ground with a loud groan.

“Jesus _fuck!_ ”

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbows, head hanging down between his shoulders, panting.

His side throbbed, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead in response to the pain rapidly spreading through his body. His lack of movement seemed to have been keeping the pain of his wound at bay, but now with his rapid dash and rough treatment, it returned with a vengeance.

Klaus tried to push himself to his feet but failed. He looked up at what had knocked him down.

A woman, the rider of the ugly red, stood before him, a sadistic smile on her face with eyes lit up in glee. She was fingering a blade attached to her hip, a wicked looking one that glinted sharply in the light, about to draw it out and probably stab him through the heart.

Not good, this was very much not good.

He opened his mouth, either to snark some witty rejoinder or beg for his life, guess he’d never know, because just then another figure slammed into the woman, using the same move that she’d previously knocked him down with..

Manon.

She turned from where she’d pinned the other woman, snarling a sharp “ _Run!_ ” before she was kicked off.

Klaus didn’t think twice.

He staggered to his feet and bolted. His side gave a protesting twinge, but he ignored it, pushing himself forwards once more in the direction of his brother.

Diego met him halfway there, taking a hold of his arm and slinging it over his shoulders, supporting his weight.

Together the two of them made their way over to the outcropping before throwing themselves down, leaning their backs against the cool stone next to Five’s unconscious form. It was a miracle (or not, depending on how you look at it) that he hadn’t woken up yet in the chaos going on around them. Klaus was, dare he say it, getting a little worried.

He closed his eyes, tipping his head back, as he tried to catch his breath. His heart was beating a rapid staccato in time with the throbbing pain behind his eyes.

God, it wasn’t worth living. He was just one spindly twig of hurt. Everywhere.

Opening his eyes again, he rolled his head over to look at Diego, whose back was to him, gazing out at the battle happening before them.

Diego suddenly froze, and Klaus stiffened in response, tension ratcheting back into his frame. Diego slowly turned around.

Oh no. Klaus recognized that grin. That was the grin Diego wore when he convinced him and Ben to go parkouring at two in the morning, the grin he wore when he suggested they try opening up the cages of the animals when they were stopping a robbery-turned-hostage situation at the zoo. Fuck, but he’d been cleaning shit off his uniform for days afterwards. It was the grin that said Diego had just come up with another crazy, righteous, hairbrained scheme, and a goddamn terrible idea.

“What if we stay? What if we help them win this fight?”

And, yep, there it was. 

“Brother dearest, now don’t take this the wrong way, but why on _earth_ would we do that? “

“Well I’m going to do it. They need our help. And if we help them, they’ll help us. Simple.”

“No way man. Ben says so too. He’s yelling now, telling you how much of a bad idea it is.”

Ben, who had just been minding his own business up until that point, opened his mouth to disagree with whatever Klaus had said, when the words caught up with him.

“For once, I actually agree with Klaus,” he said with an almost pained look. Really, it wasn’t that bad to agree with Klaus once in a while! “That _is_ a god-awful plan.”

“See?” Klaus gestured in Ben’s general direction, before remembering that Diego couldn’t, in fact, see him. Whatever, it was the principle of the matter.

“Come on, Klaus! It’ll be fun!”

“Oh yeah?” He looked around frantically, searching for something, anything, he could use to stop Diego’s crazy track of thinking. His eyes landed on Five. He pointed wildly.

“What about Five, huh? What, are you just going to do, just leave him here? He’s defenceless! He could be _killed!_ ” Klaus stared up at Diego with big eyes. His brother ignored him. 

“He’ll be fine. You in or not?” He asked as he began to rise, palming a blade in each hand. Where the _hell_ did he store his seemingly endless supply of blades?

Klaus huffed in what he hoped was a dramatic manner that conveyed how much he _did not_ want to do this. That self-sacrificing hero was going to get himself _killed!_ He froze. God, was this what Ben felt like? Was he turning into Ben?

He frantically grabbed Diego’s arm.

“I’ll go, I’ll go!”

Diego grinned.

“I knew you were my favourite brother for a reason.”

“Oh, Diego, flattery will get you anywhere.”

Diego gave Klaus a shit-eating grin. “I know.”

His brother began outlining their plan of attack, but Klaus became distracted, flashes of ghostly figures appearing in his vision, his injury weakening what little control he usually had on keeping spirits away.

He felt the familiar whisperings of ghosts, the chattering voices of unformed or long forgotten souls, the louder shouts of vengeful spirits and newer dead. He reluctantly turned around and saw a myriad of spirits, with differing intensity and strength of form, watching the battle with him.

One spirit, with a particularly strong, condensed form, a woman with golden tan skin and long blond hair, was watching the fight intently.

She suddenly turned to him and spoke, dark eyes boring into him.

“Let us help her. She needs us.”

“What?”

She only repeated herself, and now he could see the clothes she was wearing, the cloak that matched the one Manon had been wearing, the blades with the same style of make. The other forms around her that wore a similar fashion.

“Let us help her.”

This time her voice was joined by eleven others, all women with equally solid forms, that formed a reverse semicircle with the blond one at the most centre point at front, like a flock of migrating geese.

Well, Klaus supposed he couldn’t really deny the wish of a dead person - I mean he could, and probably should and had done so numerous times - but to hell with it. There was something different about them, refreshing. It was a nice change of status quo from the usual dead, who only spoke to shout at him, beg him to change what had happened to them, how unfair it was that it had happened to _them_ and, how, they were such nice people that simply _didn’t deserve_ this and couldn’t he _please_ do something about it.

It was the quiet, fierce looks in their eyes, the unafraid acceptance of their circumstance.

His hands glowed a brilliant blue, not unlike that of Five’s own power, and Klaus felt his ability coursing through his body, his nerves tingling. Felt the souls, all those souls, surrounding him, clamouring, shouting, _screaming_ to be heard. 

Usually, this was what he couldn’t bear, this endless overwhelming crescendo of noise, but he knew that if he just focused, ignored the noise, gathered the scraps of his will together and focused it inwards, he would be able to pinpoint specific souls, the twelve souls that were so ready to battle, and _pull_.

There.

An overwhelming brightness. God, they were so strong. Inhuman, beautiful souls.

He knew that they had died noble deaths, loyal deaths, could read it in their aura, the swirl of colours that surrounded them. He grabbed hold of them, clutched them close, twining his power around and _through_ them.

He brought them back, back to the land of the living, marvelled at the loyalty and love in their hearts. He could see them, read them, could sense what they had felt as they died. The norm, understandably, was fear and pain, or an all-encompassing helplessness. But these women, despite all the odds, had died with honour, love and determination.

“Diego,” he interrupted, voice strained, raised barely above a whisper, “We have help.”

The women burst into view, shimmering forms solidifying, bodies becoming _real_.

And they attacked.

Diego turned wide eyes on Klaus, before grinning savagely, palming two long knives in his hands, charging out with the women, following closely on their heels.

The fighters paled dramatically once they caught sight of the twelve. The fights stilled; mouths dropped open in shock. 

Klaus let loose an amused snort.

Clearly, they were well-known among the fighters.

Manon in particular, when she laid eyes upon the women, froze. Her face stilled into a terrifying blankness before opening up again into something that looked suspiciously like hope.

The leader of the ghosts, the one with the blond hair, immediately headed for Manon, cutting down opponent after opponent as she did so. The battle went back to its previous ferocity, the newly joined fighters tipping the scales in Manon’s favour.

Klaus saw Diego off to the side, trading blows with a small group of women, fighting back to back with the one who’d downed him earlier.

The lead spectre had reached Manon now. They exchanged small smiles.

They fought together, in tandem, ducking and weaving, looking as if they’d been working together in battle for centuries, coordination impeccable. They seemed to be communicating wordlessly, predicting the other’s moves so that they’d be able to better support their partner’s fighting.

The spirit dropped, Manon arching a blade over her head to reach a fighter who’d come in too close. Manon slashed her blade upwards as the ghost stabbed down. And there- a blade was thrown hilt first into the other outstretched hand, exactly what they needed to bring the fight to a close.

Steadily, they made their way through the dragon riders, hacking and slashing and stabbing until each and every one of them had fallen, their dragons with them. They even took down the seemingly undefeatable dragons, fighting with grace and beauty - fluid movements, like dancers but with a degree of savage delight that had Klaus shaking at the knees.

Or it could have been the exhaustion of sustaining so many active spirits for as long a time as he had.

Once the last opponent had been cut down, Klaus began to gradually recede his flow of power sustaining the spirits, lessening his hold, releasing them from his ability’s grasp, reeling it in. 

One by one, the twelve figures flickered and then disappeared, back to the land of the dead where only Klaus could see them. But they went further, vanishing from even his sight. They had spent a great deal of their own energy to coalesce their forms, and would be gone from his sight until they had recovered their strength. Some might never be able to do so.

Soon, only the blond woman stood. She walked up to Manon, who was watching her with wide eyes, filled with some unnamed emotion, and pulled her fiercely into her chest. After a couple of moments, she released Manon with another warm smile, before she disappeared like the rest.

The adrenaline rush that had been keeping Klaus upright and alert was beginning to fade, and the drain his power took on him was beginning to make itself known.

As he let fully go of his power he began to droop, tired eyes struggling to keep open, knees buckling, shoulders sagging.

He dropped to his knees, dark spots dotting across his vision, like specks and smudges of dirt on a filthy camera lens, and his sight began to blur. 

The last thing Klaus saw before he finally collapsed onto the packed, rocky ground and blacked out, was Manon’s cold, golden eyes lock on to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto the next one!
> 
> Also we are aware the ‘dragons’ are actually wyverns but Klaus isn’t so, eh.

**Author's Note:**

> So how'd it go??


End file.
